


guess it's never really over

by safeandsound13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellarke Bingo, Exes, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-03 09:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13
Summary: "You want me to put a kitchen supply up my—""I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he interjects, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. It fades and a heavy feeling of resignation settles between them. "Imagine how many diapers we could buy with that kind of money."Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, almost petulant. She knows he hates it when she gives him an attitude for no reason. "Well, what do you expect we do?" Does he wanna blow it off? He never used to be a quitter. She lets out almost this nervous chuckle, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she thinks of the most ridiculous option of them all. "The old-fashioned way?"He half-shrugs, cool expression on his face. Still, she knows him too well to not realize he's being completely serious. "It worked out pretty well for us last time."Or: Clarke and Bellamy think it's a good idea to try and have another child together even though they divorced three years ago.





	guess it's never really over

**Author's Note:**

> had this in my drafts for a hot sec and decided to finish writing it for bellarke bingo. the tropes i used are smut + angst + love confession + cuddling + maybe even bad flirting? like what's bad flirting? isn't all flirting bad? + if you squint: happily ever after? yeah.
> 
> also maybe suspend your disbelief just a little with this one? and idk shit about fertility/insemination shit besides how far google took me im not a medical professional??? how would i know???
> 
> cheers luvs

**x**

* * *

One day over lunch, Clarke is watching River play with Bellamy's dog on the grass from the porch and accidentally lets slip out, "We should have another one," in between sips of iced tea. It's Wells' old recipe and tastes like mango.

(It's probably biological, seeing her kid play with a cute animal. Hormones, she decides.)

Bellamy startles, choking on his own sip as he turns his head to blink at her, considering her. She has to try very hard to keep a straight face — it's not _just_ a hormonal thought. She's thought about it before. A lot. Obsessively. She wants more kids. She has a kid with Bellamy. It shouldn't be a big deal. Yet, it is. Since they are divorced. For a while now, even, which makes it a weird question to ask him, probably. But, she's said it, it's out there now, and she doesn't want to backtrack. It would be more awkward if she backtracked, she's sure.

He puts the glass down on the side table in between their chairs so roughly, half of the contents slosh over the rim and down his hand. He hardly seems to notice, keeping his eyes trained on her. When she doesn't say anything, he snaps, "What?"

He probably expected her to at least elaborate a little.

Out of principle, or reflex, Clarke gets defensive, like she's actually on the right side of history with this preposition. If anyone else told her they suggested to their ex that they wanted to have another one of their babies, she'd question them as well. It's not like she even wants this for real — that would imply she's crazy probably — but because he's Bellamy and she's Clarke, she has to make her point regardless.

"We already kick ass at coparenting. I'm tired of waiting for the right person when he or she may never come," Clarke lists off, systematically, knowing she's probably flushed red, her palms sweaty, looking away from him and back at River. He's giggling as the dog licks his face. Clarke can't keep the wistful smile off her face. "Besides, we make pretty good kids." She clears her throat, glances over at him out of her periphery. "Right?"

He exhales loudly, slouching over in his seat, fingers digging into his thigh and turning his nails white. He can't very much deny their kid is cute; all dark curls and brown puppy eyes too big for his face, freckles splattered across his cheekbones, the littlest button nose, who says ' _please_ ' and ' _thank you_ ' without them having to ask. "Right."

"All I'm saying," she manages, trying to fill the heavy silence between them, trying to sound less desperate, trying to get him to understand, because somehow, even if it's been two years, that's still something she craves. His validation. "I'd prefer for my kids to have the same father."

He doesn't react for another moment, then finally turns to look at her. His face a myriad of emotions she hasn't seen from him in — months, maybe. He keeps his distance nowadays. His dark eyes search her face, and she swallows tightly in preparation for whatever is about to come, but all he says is, "I _would_ like to have more kids."

It feels, strangely, sort of like _relief_ , which is an unexpected emotion to feel when you're not even sure why you couldn't just have shut up in the first place. And Clarke stares at him, stupidly, can't quite grasp the fact he hasn't flat out rejected her yet. "That's a maybe?"

He raises his eyebrows, leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest briefly. That dumb cocky face of his. "Did you want me to say no?"

She rolls her eyes. "I guess not."

"Daddy, can we go?" River jogs up to them, and the dog, Apollo, follows him obediently, butting his nose against his hip like he wants to continue playing. There's grass stains all over his white soccer shorts, his hair a mess of curls on top of his head. It's a battle Clarke has fought before and she now knows is useless. "I don't want to be late for practice."

Bellamy drags his eyes away from Clarke, scrubbing a hand over his face before grinning over at his son. It was an _abrupt_ change of subject. "Yeah, buddy. We're going."

River runs up the porch so he can give Clarke a hug, and she can press a loud kiss against his forehead. And then his nose. And his cheek. And the other one. Until he finally manages to squirm away from her. God, she always misses him so much. "I love you. Be good, okay?"

"Love you too," he mumbles, and then because he's soft and sensitive and will regret not doing it, gives her another quick hug before skidding back down the porch steps.

She watches Bellamy whistle for the dog to get in the back of the truck, then making sure River's belt is on properly. Quickly, before he closes the passenger's door, she calls over, thumbs lodged into her back pockets in an effort not seem too overeager, "And don't forget to call me tonight!"

Bellamy throws a wave over his shoulder before ducking into the truck himself. And then they're gone. And she's alone with her thoughts.

Clarke likes being alone, in a general sense. She doesn't get lonely often, when she has her medical journals to read up on or one of her paintings to finish. Sometimes Monty even forces her to leave the house. She does miss River, of course she does, but she knows he's safe with Bellamy and sometimes the silence is nice. But if there's one thing she's better at than being alone, it's overthinking. And she _did_ just ask her ex-husband to have another kid with her. She figures if there's any reason to daydrink — this is as good as it's going to get.

Half a bottle of wine and three episodes deep into the new season of Big Little Lies that she's meaning to catch up with for a while now, she almost chickens out and texts him to say she takes it back. She should have never suggested it. It's a fucked up thing to ask from him. They're good like this. Why complicate it? Instead, when she flips over her phone, there's already a message from him on there.

**Bellamy Blake ICE [09:23 PM]**

> _I'm in_

There's a picture attached that makes her stomach flip. River is asleep on his chest, a small pout on his face, his pudgy hand grasping onto his dad's blue henley tightly. Bellamy's jaw and bottom lip just in the frame. Yeah. She _really_ wants this, too.

**Clarke [10:48 PM]**

> _Just like that?_

**Bellamy Blake ICE [09:23 PM]**

> _I think we should be adults about it and seriously discuss it_
> 
> _But yeah_
> 
> _I don't see why not_

Why not. The lines. How blurred they'll be. A complication, risking what they have now. Which is good, clear. They both know where they stand. There's also the fact that sometimes when she sees him her heart still skips a beat. How sometimes she doesn't find herself just missing River, but him as well; his stupid history documentaries playing in the background, his famous adobo, his dumb jokes and that bold laugh always coming with it, free of charge. Thinks about how she hasn't been with anyone since him, told herself it was just because she was fine on her own, that she just hadn't found the right person yet. (But she went on that date with some guy from a dating site that one time, and it was great — she was honestly enjoying herself — until he pressed his lips against hers, soft and then hard and too much tongue and no hands, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. That wasn't how she liked to be kissed, and she couldn't fault the guy for not knowing that, but for some reason she still never returned his calls.)

How, when it's really bad, and she _does_ feel lonely, she thinks about him at night. About his hands, and his mouth, and how he knew just what she liked, just how to make her beg for more. How he learned her body like a map, and somehow he always got to the treasure.

They've moved on, but they still hold in small ways. Small ways they can deny if anyone asks. Say it's a mistake, or it's being interpreted wrongly, just a coincidence. She still has him as her emergency contact. He's the first person she calls if the plumbing's decided to stop working again. She's the first person he texts for advice on anything. The fucking dog — Apollo — that he named after her — the male version of the goddess he always compared her to — even if it's just a year old and they signed the divorce papers three years ago.

And now they want to have another child together. _Sounds like a plan_ , she texts him back, throwing back the last of her glass and basking in the warmth it spreads across her body. They can definitely keep 'having a baby together' platonic. She knows they can.

.

In the end, they decide they're going to do it and Clarke makes them an appointment at a fertility clinic during school hours. They haven't told River yet, as a matter of fact, they haven't told anyone. In case one of them wants to back out, or it doesn't work out. It's better if their friends don't think they're complete lunatics, because some of them will never let them live it down.

The doctor is kind and takes her time to explain everything, but after their thirty minute 500 dollar appointment they sit in the car not saying a word. The silence between them feels heavy. Every intake of breath, every flutter of his eyelashes has her on edge, like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He hasn't made a move to start his truck or fasten his seatbelt, eyes fixated on a Suzuki parked in front of them as he bites on the inside of his cheek. His eyes seem vacant, distant.

"Ten grand is a lot, huh?" Clarke says quietly as she shifts her head on the headrest to look at him. And that's _just_ the insemination process. It's not like they're poor — Bellamy works as a teacher and she works as an ER nurse and both make a decent wage, but both of them also have separate living expenses, and on top of that, have a kid who might want to go to college someday. There's no guarantee it'll work the first time, as a matter of fact, the doctor told them most couples only succeed after the third or fourth run. That's forty grand. Possibly down the drain.

He sighs heavily, turning in his seat so his back is against the window, shaking his head lightly as he pinches the bridge of his nose. His hair is getting too long. She wants to tell him to get a haircut, but bites her tongue. "What about those at home kits she mentioned?"

Clarke bites down on her lip, almost sorry to have to debunk his next argument. "The success rate of those is around five percent and they're still almost a grand per kit."

"A turkey baster?" Bellamy suggests after a beat, trying hard to keep his mouth from curving up into a grin. "I mean IKEA is just around the corner."

She narrows her eyes, even if she knows he's teasing. "You want me to put a kitchen supply up my—"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he interjects, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. It fades and a heavy feeling of resignation settles between them. "Imagine how many diapers we could buy with that kind of money."

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, almost petulant. She knows he hates it when she gives him an attitude for no reason. "Well, what do you expect we do?" Does he wanna blow it off? He never used to be a quitter. She lets out almost this nervous chuckle, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she thinks of the most ridiculous option of them all. "The old-fashioned way?"

He half-shrugs, cool expression on his face. Still, she knows him too well to not realize he's being completely serious. "It worked out pretty well for us last time."

Clarke stares at him for a moment, hard, going over what he just implied. He wants them to have sex. Which is how she knows other people do it, is how they did it last time. But she also knows it's a recipe for disaster. Then again, forty grand? He's right. Why waste the money when they're both relatively young and well, fertile.

"Okay," she finds herself saying, which somehow startles him, even though there's still an implied question mark in her voice.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Clarke affirms, more resolute. "I want this." She clenches her jaw — she doesn't want him to think she has ulterior motives. "A _baby_ , I mean. I'm willing to do it."

He narrows his eyes slightly, pursing his lips a little. There's a playful tone to his voice. "Just so we're clear — do you want to use a turkey baster or do you want me to—"

She punches him in the arm, laughing quietly. "Shut up." Her hand lingers on top of his forearm and she squeezes gently, careful. It was never — neither of them really wanted the divorce, but she knows it was harder on him, because he was the one who asked for it. Who carried most of the guilt. He's sensitive, more sensitive than her, and she doesn't want him to get hurt. Not again. "You sure you want to do this?"

He covers her hand with his free hand."It's not like — we've done it before, right?" He blows out a heavy puff of air, frustrated with himself. "It wouldn't — at least we know it wouldn't suck."

It's sex. It doesn't have to be a big deal. She's had plenty of casual sex. Bellamy, probably even more. Before her, he used to have threesomes. After her, who knows. It could just be sex. People have _just_ sex.

"Wow," Clarke deadpans, pulling her hand back. "Don't go overboard with the compliments, Bell. Think about my ego."

He slides back in front of the wheel, jamming his key into the ignition before he reaches for his seatbelt. He rolls his eyes, "Best I ever had, princess. Definitely in the top two."

She huffs, trying to hold back a smirk. "And I'm not number two is what I hope you mean to say with that."

"Well," Bellamy starts, purposely trailing off. His eyes crinkle with laughter at the sight of her slightly exaggerated betrayed face.

Two can play that game, she figures, carefully watching his face as she says, casual, "You know who I think would actually make a great sperm donor? Roan, or _Murphy_."

He scoffs, actually offended at the mere suggestion. Even his fingers tighten on the wheel. "So River can have a beefcake sibling with one brain cell or one with homicidal tendencies and pallid skin?"

She sticks out her tongue, playful. Monotone, she teases, "Aww, are you jealous?"

"Like you said," he says, gritting his teeth. " _We_ make great babies, there's no guarantee your genes will be enough to cover up for theirs. I'm just looking out for you."

"Oh, sure," Clarke insists, snorting. "You're just a walking Adonis, aren't you? Not a fault in sight."

"Ha," he retorts, temporarily taken back by the smoothness of her reply, before cooly retorting, "You fell for me once."

(It all seem like too intimate things to be joking about, but she guesses they were always good at that. Avoiding what they really want to say by covering it up with humour. The weird way in which the words make her heart flutter should tell her something. Make her say that this is a bad idea, that it will cross too many lines, that she can't handle it again.)

"And it didn't end so well," she presses, keeping a light tone to her voice even though her throat feels constricted with nerves, before subtly changing the subject.

On the way to her place, they discuss more details, impartially, almost like it's a business deal. Where and when, work schedules, her fucking menstrual cycle, who can babysit River, that they should both get tested first. Clarke doesn't have the heart to say she won't _have_ to get tested, because she hasn't been with anyone, especially not after he brings it up. She knew about Gina of course, but, there could be others, too. It makes her feel pathetic, a sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

He moved on, and here she is. Worrying about his feelings. Like — like she still holds some sort of power over him. Who does she think she is?

Her friend Harper drops off River on her way home with Jordan and Bellamy decides to stay for dinner. He makes them pesto chicken pasta. In the end, they settle on Friday two weeks from now. It's the first evening they're both free before their schedules and her ovulation don't add up for another four months, but still gives them enough time to get everything in order and probably mentally prepare. And like he asks her, lingering by the door after having said goodnight, playing with his keys in his hands, "There's no reason not to, right?"

She's made it this far. So she shakes her head, plasters on a smile, "No. There's not."

.

Clarke's planned hook-ups before. First the tinder dates when she was in college, and then after the divorce she even tried dating sites for a while. Sometimes you got lucky and found someone who was hot and not a bigot, but then you'd meet them and there ended up not being a connection. In college, she'd just fuck them and call it a win. Nothing wrong with a little companionable fun now and then.

This is different. This is nerve wracking. Not only does she know the guy, she's been married to him. Besides, there will be actual consequences to their night together. They want the consequences to be there. She doesn't know how to act. Is she supposed to open up a bottle of wine, put on her nice underwear, turn on some Hozier and set a mood? Or is she supposed to turn all the lights on, offer him water and nothing else, and put on a documentary in the background, keep it clinical?

If he was here, he'd tell her to stop thinking so loud. Since he's not yet, she pauses shaving her legs, resting on the edge of the bathtub, towel wrapped around her frame, and reaches for her phone, leaning back against the tile wall as she pulls up her contacts.

**Clarke [07:14 PM]**

> _I'm wondering if I should put out candles_

Her phone beeps just a few minutes later, almost making her drop her razor into the warm water.

**Bellamy Blake ICE [07:19]**

> _I think you're confusing me with Lexa_

Clarke rolls her eyes, about to tell him to _go fuck himself,_ but then her phone beeps again.

> _Stop thinking so much, Clarke. I'll be there in thirty._
> 
> _Do you want me to swing by the store for some of your pistachio ice cream?_

She picks her razor back up after replying with a ' _that'd be nice_ ', shooting off a quick text to Harper asking how things are with River before getting back to work on her other leg. The Greens think that she is at work, and that Bellamy has a date. It feels bad to lie to her friends, but she thinks it would actually be worse to tell them the truth at this point. The thought alone mortifies her.

After standing in front of her closet and wondering what the hell she's supposed to wear to a hook-up with her ex-husband that they _want_ to result in a pregnancy for a good ten minutes; she throws on the lacey lingerie that still has the tag on it and a simple navy t-shirt dress that's casual enough to not make it seem like she tried too hard. Clarke pointedly ignores the voice in the back of her mind saying he always liked the way blue brought out the color of her eyes, because that's _not_ why she picked it.

Clarke is just about done clipping her hair up when the doorbell rings. She takes a deep breath, tells herself to get over it and then walks over to her front door. She's mostly worried about logistics at this point. Do they talk first? Kiss? Will he even still be attracted to her? What if he isn't? Do they put on some porn and pretend that's not weird? She should've just gone to a sperm bank.

"I even sprang for the Häagen-Dazs," he announces, smug, eyebrows raised in lieu of a greeting as he holds up the tub of ice cream, making her smile as she steps aside to let him in.

"My hero," Clarke says, patting his shoulder as she leaves him to take off his coat and shoes while she disappears into the kitchen to get two spoons.

When she gets back to the living room, he's already settled on her couch, flipping through the channels on her tv. She plops down beside him, immediately digging in and scooping _more_ than a spoonful into her mouth. Sugar is good. Distracting.

"You're gonna get brain freeze," he teases, judgy, boyish grin on his face.

"I'm not going to get brain freeze," she retorts, wincing as her head starts to pound. He laughs, sending her a pointed look. It's almost normal, like this, which is why it takes a second for the nerves to settle back in.

"I'm almost a hundred percent sure I can do this, and live with myself afterwards," she declares, deciding to just get right to the point, wiping her sweaty palm on her thigh. She's a pro at separating feelings from duty; she's basically made her job out of it. She's sure she can have sex with him tonight, and look him the eye tomorrow. Clarke and pushing away how she feels? That's almost second nature.

He half-grins. "Of course you can. I mean, look at me."

She's more worried about him. He has such a big heart, he feels so much. And sure, he's had his fair share of hookups, but they — the two of them — they had something. Really something. There will always be something between him. She doesn't want him to get hurt, or do it with the wrong intentions.

She worries her lip, looks over at him for a beat. He's trying to keep the atmosphere light, but she has to know. Before they take it any further. "Can you?"

He sits up, eyes hardening, maybe even offended at the suggestion, or too petty to admit she's right. Either or. "Clarke—"

Hastily, she cuts in, "I just don't want things to change between us." It could get weird. He's made it clear he doesn't want to be with her, regardless of how they feel about each other. What if they do this, and he thinks it means more, or that she thinks it means more, and he gets uncomfortable being around her? She would rather die.

Bellamy scoffs, urging, rational, "They're going to. If we do this right."

Her forehead creases as she thinks over his words, and he sighs, taking the tub from her and putting it on the coffee table. "Stop overthinking this, okay? Forget about our history, just think —" He wets his lips, moving closer to her. "Think about my hands touching you, yeah?" One hand slides up her thigh, slightly damp from the condensation on the tub. "Just focus on how it feels."

She nods, once, and his hand slides further up, underneath her dress, fingers just brushing her hip as he keeps eye-contact. He pauses, and she doesn't understand how he can be so calm when she feels like an exposed nerve, but for some reason it helps, helps steady her. "This okay?"

Clarke nods again, still not able to get her voice to work, letting her shoulders relax as she swallows tightly. His gaze lingers on her throat, and now both his hands slide under her thighs, pulling her towards him so she has more room to lay down. She does, and he crawls on top of her, making sure to keep his weight off her by leaning on his elbows. He looks down at her, brown eyes heavy on hers, asks, "Good?"

She hums, affirmative, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. Trying it out. He leans down to press a short kiss to the column of her neck, and a warm feeling spreads from her centre to her fingers and toes, dissipating the nerves in it's wake. It's still just him. Bellamy. Her Bellamy. She can never — she _always_ feels safe with him.

Bellamy leans back from her neck, just a little, and suddenly his lips are so insanely close they're all but breathing the same air. One of his eyebrows curves up, barely, and Clarke thinks, _fuck it_ and leans up to close the gap in between them. His mouth is hot above hers, slow, steady, getting reacquainted to the feel of each other. It only takes mere moments for it to grow from something timid and gentle to something deeper, more frantic, hands grasping for purchase, desperate, anywhere, maybe to try and prove this was actually real.

(Which is better than the gentle shit, because at least like this she can still write it off as lust. Some primal urge. Hazy with desire, drunk on human touch.)

Clarke presses closer, harder, her hands moving in between them to fumble with his belt, trying to get it unbuckled. One of his hands — god, she forgot how big they are — covers hers, make her movements still.

"Hi," he breathes out, leaning back a little. There's an amused look on his face. Her breath hitches in the back of her throat as his fingers move away her hair from her collarbone, smoothing it out over her shoulder. "Slow down."

"That's really nice," she laughs breathily, trying to keep her voice from shaking at the implication he doesn't just want this to be a quick one-and-done kind of thing, "But we only need one of us to come." And she kind of just wants to get it over with. Thinks it's better if they just get to it. This is by far the most fucked up thing she's ever attempted to do.

"If you can remember, that's not how I have sex," he grins, the thumb from the hand still on her collarbone caressing her neck and causing goosebumps to form on her skin. Then his voice gets impossibly soft, his lips still wet from kissing, his gaze tender and fond and fucking _sweet,_ "There's no reason this can't be good for the both of us, right?"

Her chest constricts, and all she can do is inhale shakily, nodding as she leans back up to connect their mouths again. Trying to get back into the moment. Her body moulds against his, one hand sliding into his hair to angle the kiss, tongue running along the seam of his mouth until he opens up for her with a small groan.

He starts by pulling his shirt over his head, and Clarke lets out a soft sigh as she gets to slide her hands over his firm chest up to his shoulders, taut skin a golden brown. She almost pouts. "How do you still look this good?" Even better than she's remembered, better than she's imagined.

Bellamy chuckles low, sliding his hands from her thighs up to her sides, taking the dress with him so more of her soft rosey flesh is exposed to the chilly air. "I saw you in that bikini at Raven's 4th of July party."

"And?" She presses, ignoring the way her heart slams loudly in her chest, his thumbs brushing just below the underwire of her bra.

"You know you look good, Griffin," Bellamy presses, lowering his mouth to her neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin until she's squirming underneath him, breaths coming in short stutters, pressing her chest close to his, almost as a sign for him to please move his goddamn hands and do _something_. Against her skin, he mutters, "So good."

Like he can read her mind, he obeys, one hand shifting up to cover her breast, making her arch into him as he slides the cup down, rolls her nipple between his fingers. It's fucking ridiculous how well he still knows her, how sensitive she still is to his touch, how well her body responds to him like it's only yesterday they last did this.

She moves her knee, tries to create more room, tries to get him closer, accidentally brushing against his groin. He's hard already, and she gasps softly at the low groan he lets out at the contact. Then he pulls away, sitting up on his knees as he breathes heavily, looking down at her. The sight makes wetness pool between her thighs.

"Bed?" He asks, voice rough, offering her a hand as he gets off her and she takes it. He hauls her onto her feet, leading her to her bedroom through the dark. He stubs his toe against the doorjamb, cursing lowly under his breath, and she laughs, rubbing his back comfortingly with both her hands as they stumble towards the bed.

He sits down on it after shrugging off his jeans, leaning back on his hands as he watches her pull her dress over her head. She straightens out her hair, blowing away a stand of hair as she blushes under his dark gaze, almost like he can't believe she's real. And, _fuck_ , can he stop doing that?

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Bellamy breathes, almost in disbelief, gruffness of his voice sending sparks straight up her spine. She wants to fuck him so badly right now, and she doesn't _want_ to be wanting to fuck him. That complicates things.

Clarke walks over to him, pushing his knees apart with her own before she crawls on top of him, straddling him. If she grinds down on him just a little, well, she considers it payback.

"Clarke—" He almost rasps, hands splayed across her back as she hums against his neck, still busy trailing down the skin with hot, wet kisses, maybe leaving a mark on his pulsepoint. "Can I please go down on you?"

She pulls back abruptly, blinking at him. The desperate longing in his eyes doesn't escape her notice. He takes her hesitance as a sign to plead his case, "Please? I really want this to be good for you."

He's acting like this is some precious gift she's handing over to him, like he somehow has to thank her for even letting him do it like it isn't something they both discussed. Clarke wants to tell him he's being ridiculous, that it'll be good either way, but then she remembers how good he is with his mouth, more often than not, so she finds herself nodding before she can overthink it. They might as well make the most out of it.

He flips them over, scooting her further onto the bed, and she shivers as he starts pressing open mouthed kisses down her chest, his hand splayed across her lower belly to keep her in place as he blows warm air onto the wet patches of skin.

He doesn't say anything as his free hand snakes inside her panties, fingers slipping between her folds to stroke her, but from the strained sound he makes in the back of her throat, she can tell she's embarrassingly wet. There's a certain kind of determination set on his face now, and without warning or hesitation, one of his fingers slip inside of her, using his thumb to rub circles around her clit.

She's trying to keep from making too many noises, her cheeks flushed red from exertion by now she's sure. He pulls his hand back, making her moan in protest, but then he's hooking his thumbs into her panties, pulling them down her legs like they're running out of time, like he can't restrain himself any longer.

Before she can really register it, his lips cover her sensitive clit, filling her with his fingers at the same time. Her hips thrust mindlessly against his face, hand snaking into his hair to hold him against her as he tortures her with pleasure, tracing the same path through her folds over and over again until she practically forgets her own name.

"Bellamy," she rasps, voice hoarse, skin on fire as her thighs begin to tremble around him. She can feel it building and building, feels like she might snap any second. "Please."

She can feel his mouth curve into a smirk against her, his finger curling inside her, searching for that one special spot that still drives her absolutely insane. Her voice echoes through her bedroom as she flies apart at his touch, little strokes he makes with his tongue remaining relentless as she comes down.

She has to take a moment to collect herself, biting down on her bottom lip as her chest heaves with erratic breaths. She opens her eyes after a moment to stare up at him, half-lidded, watching him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight sends heat straight back to her core, and she's reaching for him already, and fuck, "I need you, please. Bellamy."

Clarke's not entirely sure how she went from ' _this can be casual sex between adults_ ' to ' _begging him to be inside of her_ ' but it's happening.

He starts to take off his boxers while she makes quick work of her bra, flinging it off somewhere to the side as he crawls back into top of her, covering her body flush with his own. She kisses him, just because, tastes herself on his tongue. Their hands trail over chests, stomachs, faces, burning trails into their skin, mouth finding her breast, nipping and biting on the skin softly, making her choke out his name.

"So I guess no condom, huh?" He whispers, teasing, inches away from her mouth, breath hot against her lips, and suddenly the thought of him coming inside of her sends a surge of need through her entire body as her arms band around his shoulders tightly.

"No," she says, just to not come across as a total pathetic mess, but her breath hitches in the middle of the word as he drags his cock through her wetness. Her eyes almost roll into the back of her head at the sensation.

His hair is a mess on top of his head, his mouth still wet from hers, the skin red and swollen, crescent-shaped welts in his skin from her fingernails, purple-ish bruises forming on his neck, making her chest ache with something that's almost too overwhelming to analyze. She wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him closer, letting him know it's okay. He pecks her mouth, tucks some hair behind her ear, sensing her reluctance. "Are you sure?"

It's not like if they stop now it'll change anything. Like she hasn't been dry humping him since he first kissed her, like he didn't just go down on her. It's already too late for them to pretend nothing happened, to laugh about it over a drink a week from now, poking fun at their stupid idea to have sex. It gives her the final push to dig her heels into him to urge him on, breathing out a quiet, "Please."

Bellamy doesn't need any more encouragement than that, never has, reaching between them to guide himself to her entrance, and with one push, finally filling her. Both of them groan in relief. She's missed this, missed his cock, missed him. It's almost cruel — that this is supposed to be a one time thing.

He gives her a moment to adjust before starting to move inside her, hips rocking against her with slow and steady strokes. Her eyes flutter close, focusing on the the sensation of him inside her, of his mouth pressing soft butterfly kisses against her neck, her shoulder, collarbone, anywhere he can reach. His hand reaches between them to find her clit again, circling in exactly the way he knows it'll get her there the quickest.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groans, burying his face against her neck. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders, she's so, so close, meeting him thrust for thrust, her body starting to tighten around him.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._ With a choked sound he empties himself inside of her, her walls contracting around him as wave after wave of her orgasm washes over her.

He stays on top of her like that for a while, their skin sticky from sweat, his forehead pressed against her collarbone, spent. He pulls away eventually slipping out of her. She drags her gaze up at the ceiling, knowing that if she looks at him now, she'll lose the tenuous hold she has on her emotions.

He's always been a cuddler, so it doesn't surprise her that — after he returns from the bathroom with a wet cloth to clean her up as best as possible before throwing it into the hamper by her dresser haphazardly — he slips right back in beside her, pulling her bare back into his chest. He presses another soft kiss to her shoulder, and she feels herself close to tears all of a sudden.

"Bellamy," she says, after a few quiet moments.

"Yeah?" He sounds sleepy.

"I miss you. Sometimes," she whispers, and it's a surprise to herself how even her voice is. It's easier when she doesn't have to look at him, when she can just stare at the wall in front of her. Pretend like she's talking to herself. "A lot of the time."

She feels him shift behind her, just a little, frame stiffening. "Why have you never said anything?"

"It was my fault, Bellamy. I should have never — I left, and I hurt you, and I regret it every day. I didn't feel like I had the right to say anything." She licks her lips, still tastes him on them. At the time, when someone offered her a job overseas to be an army medic, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity she'd dreamt about her whole life, she thought she wanted to go there more than she wanted to stay at home with him. "You moved on. I didn't want to take that from you too."

He sounds eerily calm. "What makes you think I moved on?"

Clarke moves over a little, so she's more on her back, can look at him in the dark, gauge his expression."It's been three years. You seem happy." Her chest feels hollow. "You had Gina, for a while, too."

"That's—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head just a little. He opens and closes his mouth soundlessly, then finally says, "I figured out that — I have trouble being alone."

Clarke frowns. "So why are you alone now?"

He sounds impossibly soft, vulnerable, too. A part he's kept from her ever since their divorce. "Because I don't want to be with someone who isn't you."

"Bellamy—" She starts, because he can't say shit like that. Her eyes prick with tears.

"No, it's okay, Clarke," he dismisses her, easily, like they're not talking about the same thing, "I've made peace with it. It's always been like this. Even before we got together, I only ever started a relationship whenever you were unavailable." He lets out a self-deprecating dark chuckle. "I think you kind of — I don't know. What do you want me to say? You had an impact."

"I never thought you forgave me," she explains, honestly, clinging onto the sheet covering her chest almost desperately, trying to hold on to reality. "I thought you just decided on tolerating me, for River's sake."

"You know I _always_ forgive you, one way or another. It's what we do." He lifts one shoulder, half-hearted, corners of his lips turning up in the same matter. "This time just took a little longer."

Clarke turns completely now, so she's facing him. She fixes her gaze on his sternum, tries to find the right words. "I'm sorry for leaving. I — I thought we were strong enough to survive it. That I could go, and nothing would change. That what I could find there, the people I could help, that it would all be worth it in the end. But I didn't listen when you asked me to stay."

"I guess I did overreact in hindsight. I was so angry at you that I forgot that I missed you. River was so little and he would have these fits of screaming and crying, just saying mama over and over, and when I tried to tell you, tried to talk to you about it over the few phone calls we got, you always — you always seemed so distracted." He jaw ticks, for a second, and she knows it's difficult for him, to dredge this back up, his eyes brimming with tears. "I didn't want that for my son. To grow up like I did. Wondering where his mom was, if she even cared, like I did with my dad."

She's afraid to breathe, to touch him, to speak, but pushes herself to whisper, barely audible, "Do you think — do you think maybe there's still a way we can work it out now? Try again?"

"I don't know," he says, honestly, then a mischievous glint falls over his eyes. "We _did_ just have sex. I feel like you owe me some dinner for that, at least."

She could just accept his obvious proposal to go on date, instead, she snickers, hand coming up to cover his firm upper arm. "I think _you_ owe _me_ dinner."

"Well," he trails off, mocking tone to his voice, "If we think about it I already ate."

She swats him in the stomach, hard enough to make him winch. The abrupt change of mood has her more annoyed than amused. "What the _fuck,_ Bellamy."

He catches her hand with his, presses a kiss to her fingers. His sudden tenderness a stark contrast to his stark sex joke. "I thought you said you could live with yourself afterwards. Collected Clarke, always disattached." The eyeroll is implied.

All this time she worried about hurting his feelings, she never considered her own. Clarke tries to explain her thought process as well as possible, even if sometimes she doesn't even understand it. "I thought wanting you was something I was going to have to get used to. You know, my punishment for screwing things up with you. I've been doing it for so long, I figured it couldn't get much worse, that I could handle it either way."

Bellamy sounds impressed. "You thought this could be just be casual sex?"

She snort, mirthless. "How casual can sex be when you both want it to end in a pregnancy?"

"So you had hope?"

It's a difficult question deep down she doesn't want to answer. He's asking her straight on if she went into this with different expectations than she'd said out loud, that if maybe somewhere deep down she'd thought that it meant more, for the both of them, that she could win him back. Admitting something like that out loud makes her feel vulnerable, too vulnerable, makes her chest constrict with anxiety. Fear.

"I'll always have _hope_ , Bellamy," Clarke presses, genuinely. She wants to be honest with him, thinks it's what he deserves. He makes her want to be brave again. "You had an impact on me, too."

His arm tightens around her waist, nose briefly nuzzling against her shoulder. He answers her earlier question, voice even and certain but also lined with something quiet and serious. "I think we could definitely try."

Something nags at her, a little voice in the back of her head, something a lot like doubt, like she doesn't deserve his forgiveness, doesn't deserve him. Clarke doesn't dare to look at him, afraid his face might give away more than she wants to know, picking at a loose thread on her sheets mindlessly. "Are you're sure you're not just lonely?"

He exhales heavily, his expression hard and unreadable. "Are you asking me if I would be settling for you?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Are you deflecting?"

"Clarke," he says, exasperated, swinging his forearm over his forehead as he throws his head back into the pillow. "I've been in love with you since I was twenty-three. Even at my darkest moments, when I hated you the most, that was still true. That will _always_ be true."

She props herself up on her elbow, searches his face, desperate. "I don't — I don't want you to do this because you feel like it's the right thing to do. Like it's something you owe me, or River, or the baby we might or might not have."

His hand comes up to rest on her jaw, thumb moving over her lips briefly before settling on her chin. His eyes are so gentle, so full of unadulterated love, she almost starts crying again. "You have to know that even after all this years, you're still completely out of my league, right? That the only one who would be settling is you."

She leans forward, presses her lips against his, almost frantic. "I love you, okay? Even if we try and I fuck up again, or if you end up resenting me, just remember that I do, okay?"

"And you call me dramatic," he teases, but there's a fond, touched look in his eyes.

She plays with the curls at the nape of his neck, she smiles, deprecatingly, "In hindsight, this was a really stupid idea. Like it would work, us just doing this once." She scrunches up her nose. "Why did we think it would work? Even though I'm ovulating, odds are really still only 20 percent."

He grins, smug. "You're the medical professional, I take no blame for this."

Clarke barks out a humoured huff, adjusting the pillow underneath her head. "So you admit you just wanted to fuck me one more time?"

One hand trails down her arm, leaving goosebumps in it's wake. "Definitely not _one_ more time."

She's losing it just a little, but still manages to throw out a half-hearted, "Dickhead."

He runs a finger over her collarbone, down her sternum, the curve of the underside of her breast. Touching, but not really touching, threading the line. She's missed his teasing more than she'd care to admit. "Wanna up our chances?"

.

"I can't believe we just did that again," Clarke breathes heavily, damp hair plastered to her forehead as she stares down at the bundle of blankets covering her baby in her lap, knees pulled up a little to her chest to prop him up for her whole family to see, hands carefully bracketing him on each side. His little fists wrapped tightly around each of Clarke's pointer fingers. Technically, she knows it's a reflex, but it stills fills her whole body with a overwhelming kind of warmth overtaking all her senses.

It hadn't been easy, to go back to where they once stood. Maybe that was something that was long gone anyway. All they could do was start over fresh. Their friends had picked sides during the divorce, even if they didn't want to admit it. Harper and Monty were the only ones who'd branded themselves as Switzerland. Most of the others went to Bellamy — which was fine with Clarke. They were mostly his to start with and he needed them more than she had. She always had done just fine on her own.

It had taken a while to get all of them to trust her, some even to forgive her, convince them she wasn't going to hurt Bellamy again. Raven was the most stubborn, but in the end even she budged when they turned out to be expecting another baby. (If Clarke's calculations were correct, it _had_ only taken them that one lucky time to get her knocked up. She's glad they didn't know at the time; that she got more than she bargained for.)

"It was almost all you, babe," Bellamy answers, voice rough, cheeks still vaguely tainted with tears as one of his fingers trails down the bridge of their son's nose. It's so small, so tiny, it's practically the size of his whole thumb.

River, eager to imitate his father's ministrations, pipes up from under Bellamy's arm, excited, "Can I touch him?"

"Be gentle, okay, buddy?" Bellamy relents, lifting him up into Clarke's bed, on his knees, so he can reach without having to strain.

Eyes full of wonder, River carefully runs his fingers over his little brother's nose, like he'd seen his dad do, then his philtrum, before attempting to open his eyes manually. Clarke pries his hand away quickly, laughing softly. "Rif, he's _sleeping_."

Their firstborn huffs. "I just wanted to see if his eyes looked like mine."

"He looks exactly like you," Bellamy says, meeting Clarke's amused eyes over his head. His already full head of dark hair, bronzed unblemished skin, his full rosey lips. It's almost déjà vu, except their first hadn't shut up for months. Or that's what it felt like at the time.

River slouches down beside his mother, squeezing in beside her and the railing of the hospital bed. There's a crease in between his brows. "Couldn't he have looked more like mommy?"

"Why?" Clarke muses, shifting her head to look at the six year old. He shrugs, frown only turning deeper. Bellamy squeezes his shoulder, urging him on quietly to voice his thoughts out loud. "I thought you wanted to be a big brother?"

River crosses his arms over his chest, pressing the back of his head into his mother's pillow. His mind is going a mile a minute, they can tell as much. "If he's a boy too and he looks like me and he ends up being better at soccer than me, will I have to go live with grandma?"

Bellamy barks out a surprised laugh, ruffling his son's hair. "Don't worry. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemies."

Clarke narrows her eyes at her husband before turning back to her son, trying to use logic to bring him back from his fears seeming to manifest right in front of him. "It doesn't matter what he looks like or how good he is at soccer, baby — we will always love you." She smiles, as bright as she can muster together after an eighteen hour birth. "If you go live with grandma, I'd miss you way too much."

His brown eyes fill with unshed tears, words suddenly tumbling out all at once, "But what if you two fight again? Will one of you take Noah, and the other me?" His bottom lip starts to tremble, jutting out dramatically, a fat tear dripping down his chin, breaking Clarke's heart in her chest. "Will I never see you again mommy?"

Somehow their son seems to think that they're trying to replace him, create a spare, just in case they divorce, again. He gets that from his mom, never being able to turn his brain off, seeing the worst in everything.

Clarke untangles one hand from Noah's strong grip, lifting her arm so River can settle into her side, cheek pressed against her chest as his small body shakes with sobs. She meets Bellamy's gaze, his hand splayed across River's back comfortingly. She can tell this is just as hard on him, his dark eyes filled with emotion.

She sighs softly, squeezing his waist. "We can't — we can't promise you we'll never fight, or that we won't ever break-up. Stuff like that happens." Clarke swallows tightly, offers her husband a regretful smile. "People make mistakes, life gets in the way, things change. But I can promise you that the way we feel about _you_ will never change."

"Before we got you, I thought my heart was full. But then there you were, and my heart turned out to have so much more room than I thought, I thought it was going to explode," Bellamy adds, softly, wiping a curl back off River's forehead, his eyes softening. "Noah isn't taking up your space, buddy, he's just created more."

His sobs have subdued, cheeks still wet from tears as he carefully looks from his mom to his dad to his brother and back to his mom. His lip curls again, eyes getting glazy. "I'm sorry."

"Hey. Don't apologize," Bellamy says, quickly, wetting his lips. "When me and your mom got a divorce that had nothing to do with you. We wouldn't try again if we thought we or you were going to end up hurt again. But even if it doesn't work out in the end, we're never going to separate you from either of us. We'll _always_ be a family."

Her eyes feel heavy, her muscles sore, her limbs tired, and her hormones are off the charts imbalanced, but she really wants to kiss him right now, affirm she feels the same way. Looking at him, she knows she doesn't _have_ to. He understands. They will always be a unit. The two of them. Together.

"You're a big brother now," Clarke adds, teasing tone to her voice, tickling his waist slightly. "He needs you as much as we need you."

River sniffs, finally nodding against his mom's chest as he snuggles closer. Bellamy smiles at the sight, then softly presses and almost regretfully adds, "We should let your mom sleep for a while."

"Or you can take Noah and we can take a nap together?" Clarke offers, stifling a yawn as she checks Bellamy's face to see if he's okay with that plan. He nods in response, not going to pass up on some one on one cuddles with the newest addition to their family.

Before Bellamy can make a move to life Noah off Clarke's legs, River leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Noah's forehead before settling back against his mother, closing his eyes firmly. She practically melts on the spot, sharing a stupid grin with Bellamy as he cradles their youngest son to his chest.

"I love you," she mouths, stomach flipping. Half of the time she still doesn't feel like this is something she deserves, but she's getting there with his help.

Her husband leans down, his grin widening before he presses his mouth against hers, brief, fond, perfect. "Go to sleep, babe. I'll be right here when you wake up."

.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway let me know what you think, dont forget to subscribe to my channel and leave a thumbs up and find me [here](http://www.captaindaddykru.tumblr.com) or [here](http://www.twitter.com/captaindaddykru) if you want to yell, prompt me, or take a shot every time bob or eliza says 'my wife/husband' mwah


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